Black Team
by Petty Officer First Class Boo
Summary: Five year have passed and Staff Sergeant Michael "Dust" Durst has returned to service with a new team. Will the team be able to stop a looming war or will they be in the thick of the flashpoint? Sequel to Green Team.
1. Prologue: Five Years After

**AN: Black Team is a direct sequel to Green Team, this time set within the Battlefield 4 universe. The Prologue and Chapter 1 will be uploaded to give you a taste of what is to come in Black Team. Further chapters won't be uploaded until Green Team is completed. Please read and review!**

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Black Team

Prologue: Five Years After

Under the cover of darkness, we fight. The black hole of military operations, accepting missions only second to those of the SEAL Teams, we were the Marine Special Operations Capable operators. From the sea to sky to the ground, we're always faithful and always forward. After five years of being away from MARSOC, I'm back.

My name is First Lieutenant Michael "Dust" Durst and this story is about how Marine Special Operations Team 8342 stood on the edge of peace and all out World War Three.

February 28th, 2020

Camp Lejeune, North Carolina

Special Operations Training Center

0945 Hours

Five years has passed since those faithful moments in Afghanistan. The journey of turning boys into men. Training to be an officer had consumed most of my life. First, it was officer candidate school a year or two of learning to be an actual leader rather than leading by experience. Second Lieutenant Butter Bars were pinned to my collar after graduation. Another year was spent training to be a critical skills officer within the Marine Special Operations Capable branch. Succeeding smoothly through the course, I was a certified CSO. My requalification as Scout Sniper, Recon Man and Airborne Infantry followed soon after and before you knew it four years has passed.

My first mission back was with MSOT 4281 on a simple mission to help Marines and Army soldiers successfully pull out equipment from Afghanistan. My butter bars were swapped for silver markings of a First Lieutenant. With a successful trial by fire, the brass reassigned me back to MSOT 8342 with my former commanding officer – Captain Bryce Keller once again overseeing my operations. It was my turn to take command of a new squad…a new team, a special operations team.

A black team.

It was a perfect day. Puffy white clouds floating in a sea of blue and the weather at a comfortable temperature. It was a usual day on base as Humvees drove on streets to their destinations. Recruits applying for the MARSOC branches were out training day in and day out, marching, jogging, sprinting to and from different facilities.

I walked up towards a big warehouse with a stoic man standing in front of the door. He was larger than most at six feet three and the build of gorilla. His hair was close to grey with a couple of strands still black on his sides. Captain Bryce Keller looked intimidating no matter where he was. How he fathered six healthy children was beyond me. As I approached, the Captain glanced at me and waved hello.

"Durst!" he said, his tenor voice booming even though he didn't scream, "over here!"

"Is this where I'm going to meet my team sir?" I asked, walking up to the bigger man.

"Drop the sir Durst, we're both officers now. No need for the formalities," he replied with a grin, "I see you're still using Bag's SCAR."

"Still am…Bryce. Sorry it's still a bit awkward for me to call you by your first name. I'll just stick with sir for now," I replied.

Dressed in a normal olive drab service tee, camo pants and desert combat boots, the battle tested SCAR hung from a two-point sling wrapped around my torso. I rubbed the magazine well with my right index finger. This weapon had saved me countless times, there were moments when it jammed but, it still brought me out alive nonetheless. Captain Keller opened the door and gestured for me to walk through. I stepped through the doorframe in anticipation of being the leader of a new team. The team was new alright, but the men weren't.

"Staff Sergeant," said one in surprise, "what the hell are you doing here?"

"That's First Lieutenant Michael Durst to you Sergeant Townsend," Captain Keller chuckled.

The former Private's eyes grew wide.

"Staff-I mean- Lieutenant! You're our new team leader?" Townsend said in surprise.

"That's right," I replied with a large smile, "I didn't expect you fuckbags to make it through Recon school, let alone MARSOC selection."

"Shatter your expectations did we not sir?" another one of my old Marines asked, this time it was my 2IC.

"Durst, this is your 2IC, Staff Sergeant Wilkins. Expect you two know each other well," Captain Keller introduced my old second in command.

"We know each other real well, do we not Lieutenant?" Wilkins asked with a large grin.

The men of 3/6 Charlie had turned from young baby faced boys into full on warriors. Their once sparkling eyes expecting adventure and a squad of brotherhood were now dull with experience. Soft faces were weathered by sunlight and harsh climates. Scrawny muscles that barely shown through their fat filled arms were now masses of tightly packed interconnected fibers of muscle. Their once casual stance was changed with a strong and stable posture.

I chuckled at their transformation, but noticed one was missing.

"Where's Langley?" I asked looking around for the Scots.

"He's back with 3/6 Charlie. Staff Sergeant Langley's filling in your shoes sir," Wilkins replied, "Sergeant Avery Louis is filling in for him."

My eyes were drawn to a large African-American soldier. He looked equally as grizzled as the men before me. He was unproven, but I would be the judge of that myself.

"Now that we're all acquainted, let me see what you fuckers have got," I said with a small, evil grin.

"I'll leave you to it Lieutenant," Captain Keller stated and backed out of the door.

"MSOT 8324, gear up and prepare for black operations!" Wilkins screamed the order.


	2. Chapter 1: Recon Mission 3318

Black Team

Chapter 1: Recon Mission 3381

June 21st, 2020

MC-130J Commando II

35,000 Feet Above Sea Level

2345 Hours

"Reaper Actual, check gear and equipment," I spoke into the oxygen mask.

High above land, I sat in the dim red lighting. The back of the Commando was large enough to hold a decent amount of men and equipment. But, here we were, all fourteen of us crammed in with three light ground mobility vehicles. The GMVs were a variant of the Humvee with all unnecessary weight, armor and equipment stripped out for the favor of speed and agility. After all, no one wants to be stuck in the middle of a desert in one ton armored metal box when you can be blitzing through the desert at over eighty miles per hour.

Strapped securely to my back was the SCAR-H rifle given to me by Bag long ago. Now, it was back within the special operations branches where it belonged. I looked into the passenger bay at the thirteen men donned in HALO gear. Not too long ago, the thirteen used to be baby faced, inexperienced Marines. Now they were grizzled veterans left over from the Afghanistan War. With the United States, Britain and allied nations pulling out from Afghanistan, flashpoints were being ignited on other fronts, most notably were Russia and China along with certain privately backed African countries.

"Five minutes," a crewman spoke on the intercom.

"Reaper Actual, radio check," I ordered, standing up.

"Reaper 2, five by five."

As the radio checks went on, I pulled on my parachute toggle to make sure it wouldn't go loose on the way down. The hissing of the mask distracted me for a few seconds, as time seemed to fly by. It was this butterfly stomach filled experience that I craved for, that I yearned for during my time as a Marine. Now thirty years old, I would only have a decade or so left before I was either forced to retire from the Marines itself or become an instructor.

"Lower the ramp," the crew chief ordered.

"Lowering the ramp!" the crewmen replied, slamming a button on the rear control box.

A buzz and whirls resonated in the entire passenger bay of the MC-130J. The aircraft shuddered as cold wind sapped heat from the inside of the cargo plane. Slowly shuffling towards the back of the plane, I crouched down and glanced from between the hydraulic beams of the ramp. It was pitch black with nothing below. In the distance, city lights were shining through thick invisible clouds in the sea of darkness. If the GPS was right, we should be flying over the mission area. A vast desert in Western China was our sandbox and the objective was a secret training base and air base of the Chinese People's Liberation Army.

"One minute!" the crew chief screamed.

"One minute!" I repeated, holding up my index finger.

"Apollo 11, flying over LZ Bushwell. Preparing to drop Spartans into the sandbox," the pilot reported, his voice filled with static in my headset.

"Roger that Apollo 11, Baseplate copies all. Proceed with Recon Mission 3381. Radio silence until Reaper checks in at Point Coke, Baseplate out."

"Thirty seconds!" the crew chief screamed once again.

"Reaper Team, ready on your go sir," Staff Sergeant Wilkins reported.

"Good, we jump right after the vehicles," I replied, looking at the helmeted operator dressed in desert multi-cam fatigues and gear.

"Ten seconds!"

"Prepare to jump Reapers," I whispered into my mask, standing up and gripping the hydraulic rod.

"Three, two…one – go, go, go!"

_Clank._

Dim red light turned green, bathing the bay in a soft lime hue. The chains holding the vehicles detached from couplings holding them down to the deck. Metal plates slid backwards as the GMVs flew out the back of the MC-130J and into the darkness. The only sign of the vehicles were the chemlights and infrared strobes placed on the cars themselves. One by one they flew past me with the screeching of metal rubbing against metal. Finally, the last GMV raced past me and into the void. I turned and waved the operators onward, to trust me and throw themselves into the darkness. They sprinted past and pushed off the ramp. Their arms spread open like an eagle to catch the air.

"See you on the other side sir," one said giving me a two-finger salute and jumped back first into the darkness.

"Oh you will Townsend," I replied and watched the last man fly past me.

I gave the crew chief a quick salute and pushed myself off the ramp. Torrents of fast moving air buffeted my body. Nothing but darkness surrounded me. Below me, dull neon lights marked the position of my free falling subordinates. My breathing quickened. The hiss of oxygen mask became more frequent as I glanced up at a small device strapped to my arm. Fifteen thousand feet and dropping like a rock. Without night vision, the pair of chemlights on each of the operators back and wrist made it look like a group of fireflies were soaring from the sky.

_Splat!_

Wet rainwater splattered against my visor. Streaks of blurred lines slipped against the slick glass before disappearing into the air. Flashes of light flickered in the darkness. We were jumping into a storm waiting to happen. Passing through the liquid heavy clouds, I saw a pair of chemlights sway to and fro. The first man was signaling that he was opening his chute. The chemlights disappeared as I glanced up at my altimeter. Five thousand feet, it was getting close to the hard deck.

I waved my hands to and from my head. Reaching over to my left shoulder, I grabbed the toggle and wrenched it out from its resting place. One explosion erupted from my parachute pack as the parafoil unfolded itself from the small casing. Straps tightened around my crotch and chest from sudden deceleration. Both of my hands reached up to grab two control toggles. Pulling the toggles, I veered the parachute left and followed a series of neon lights spiraling down towards the ground.

One dim reddish light accompanied by smoke lit up the desert floor.

"Reaper 2 to Reaper Actual, LZ smoke and flare are up. Beginning preparations for a fast ingress to observation area," Wilkins reported.

I reached from the toggles and flipped down my night vision goggles, "roger that Reaper 2, prep infil kits and get your war face on."

"Roger that Reaper Actual, 2 out."

Pulling the toggles close together, I watched the ground rush up to meet me. My legs slammed into the ground in a flash of pain. Shuffling to a stop, I quickly turned back to reign in the parachute lines. Stuffing the parachute back into its pack, I pulled off my helmet complete with oxygen mask. I was the last one to land and the rest of the men were already completing their transition into warfighters. Donning my FAST OpsCore helmet, I pulled out a face paint kit and camouflaged my skin in desert colors. A mishmash shade of brown, tan, black and white, I quickly walked over to the thirteen souls gathered in the middle of three vehicles.

"Wilkins, Do, McCullough, Gonzales and Campbell, you've got lead GMV. Mejia, Griffin, Taylor, Johnson, Douglas, you've got second vehicle. Davis, Townsend, Louis and I will be in the last vehicle. Give me a thirty-meter spread with lights out. Go full IR lights and night vision for navigation. At point A&W we go full darkness while we egress to OP 1.

OP 2 will be set up after we've set fallback point Axe. OP 3 will be the actual observation point. ROE will be shoot only when you're shot at. There are no civilians that HQ knew of in this area. If they're with camels and garbed in desert clothing, you're cleared to engage. Children are still a no go. Check?"

"You got it sir," Sergeant Townsend replied, giving me a quick nod.

"We're just glad to be on this op with your as our team leader again sir," Staff Sergeant Griffin said with a small smile.

"I'm glad you men turned out the way you are. Or else I'll be whipping your asses back into the infantry units," I stated with a grin, "now mount up. We need to meet the timetable."

"Roger that sir."

Silently and with purpose, each of the operators got into their vehicle. The rumbling of powerful V8 engine resonated in the still dark air. I flipped my goggles back down to find the pitch-black desert floor to find the dirt brown dust shine back with a greenish tinge. Floodlights from the GMV's headlamps illuminated the brown dust caked ground with powerful infrared beams. Sitting in the passenger seat, I had a mounted M240L general-purpose machine gun. Glancing back, I caught Davis's attention.

"Our sniper rifle, spotting scope and equipment squared away?" I asked the Staff Sergeant.

"Yes sir, all back here," Davis replied patting a hard plastic case.

"Reaper to Baseplate, we have touched down at LZ Bushwell. Proceeding at speed to Point Coke. Reaper out," I reported to command, there was no reply from radio silence.

"Alright Reapers," I spoke, "lets run'em up and get to the Chinese base before they notice we were even there."

The drivers revved the engine and shifted the GMVs into gear. Rattling from the chassis frame, equipment and spare parts shook the vehicle with a loud shudder. Fat tires ran over giant rocks and pebbles before slamming back into soft sand. I pulled the harness over my body, strapping myself in before the GMV threw me out the doorless frame. My fingers danced over a large touchscreen mounted at the center of the dashboard. The FBCB2 or Force Battle Command Brigade and Below was a friendly satellite force tracker. Among the vast terrain, only the three vehicles were moving across at a steady blinking pace. Each of the points were displayed on the map with time, dates and exact GPS locations for each call in. Passing a checkpoint, I grabbed a radiophone from the GMV's radio stack and shoved it between my helmet strap and ear.

"Reaper to Baseplate, passing Point Coke and egressing to Point Sprite how copy," I reported.

"Baseplate copies all, proceed to Point Sprite and check in again once OP 1 is set up. Baseplate out."

"Reaper this is Apollo 21. We are one times AC-130U, playtime is one hundred eighty mikes. Armaments are one twenty five millimeters Gatling gun, one forty millimeters cannon and one one-hundred millimeters howitzer. Flying in a twenty-mile orbit at IP Mustang on the border of Kyrgyzstan. Time until we arrive to support will be thirty minutes. Remarks, we are ready to support and will check out in three hours. Next Spooky flight will arrive in five hours. Reaper will have a two-hour blackout zone. Apollo 21 out."

"Roger that Apollo 21, Reaper Team is thankful for your support. We'll keep you on call. Reaper out," I replied and checked my watch.

"Looks like we've got our personal guard dog huh sir?" Sergeant Townsend asked with a big grin.

"Shut up and keep your eyes on the desert Townsend. You're still as fucking annoying as ever," I grumbled as Davis bellowed a large laugh.

"It's not like our infantry days if that's what you're asking. We're fucking MAR-fucking-SOC now!" Davis yelled, despite the smothering gale.

"Davis," I grunted.

"Yes sir?" he replied.

"Scan the fucking horizon if you would please."

"O-on it sir," the former fire team leader stuttered.

Bumping and rocking at speed, within thirty minutes we were within minutes of OP 1. I looked back and flashed my IR flashlight thrice to signal the blackout. The headlights were extinguished as I flipped up my night vision goggles to navigate by moonlight. Beams of light peeked through the dark thundering clouds. So far, it didn't rain in this arid place. Fallback Point Axe was behind a natural hill jutting out from the desert like a sore thumb. Around it were giant rolling hills of dirt and dust.

Nothing out of the usual.

OP 1 was set up at a small basin's cliff with a small hole between to peaks to prevent the teams from being silhouetted against the sky. It was meant to be the rally point of the team with all the GMVs parked there. A little further into the basin and behind tree cover was another steep drop. OP 2 would be set up at the sheer drop off with a sniper team and long-range surveillance gear. OP 3 was to be the closest observation post right up at the edge of the Chinese air base. Filled with troops and six man patrol teams, only two men would skull drag themselves up that close.

It was decided that Townsend and Mejia, the two most annoying fuckers in the entire team and close combat specialists would be the two to do it.

Griffin and I would be on first watch for OP 2.

With the GMVs set up at OP 1, I grabbed a plastic weapons case and flicked it open. Inside sat the Remington MSR chambered in the powerful Lapua Magnum round. Encased in thick foam, I pulled out the weapon and slapped in a magazine. Griffin placed his M40A5 on top of his assault pack as he grabbed the spotting scope and digital camera.

Shoving in the Toughbook laptop into my pack, I looked towards Mejia and Townsend. Just a couple years ago they were still baby faced Marines. Now, they were hardened veterans of war compared to the new boot camp graduates. The pair switched out their hard ballistic helmets for boonie hats and stripped everything but their load bearing equipment. Their SCAR-Hs dangled from D-rings clipped to their vests equipped with various optics, suppressors and grips according to their taste and styles. They turned towards me, nodding to show their readiness.

"Baseplate, Reaper, mark time 0233 hours. OP 1 and Fallback Point Axe have been set-up. Recon elements are about to begin operations, how copy?" I spoke into the radiophone.

"Baseplate copies all, report when Ace of Spades has been confirmed. But do not engage, repeat do not engage, your task is to recon and report."

"Reaper rogers, recon and report. Do not engage targets if not within ROE. Reaper out," I replied and placed the radiophone back in the GMV.

"You boys up for the job?" I asked the pair.

"We might be the same old annoying kids, but we're teenagers now dad. Not young babies," Mejia said teasingly as I chuckled.

"Set up a defensive perimeter. Make sure no chinks get within fifty meters of this fucking OP. You see movement, retreat and suppress all the way back until Point Axe. Do not fire until you are fired upon. Set your crosshairs on the enemy and pull when they shoot, not before and only after. Check?" I explained, hopping slightly to settle the pack on my back.

"Check," the ten-manned team replied.

"Change your call sign to Ghosts," I ordered Mejia and Townsend, "Griffin and I are Stalker. We'll see you in an hour or two. Golf Lima gentlemen."

"See you in a bit sir," Staff Sergeant Wilkins said his farewell.

"Keep the team in one piece Wilkins," I replied with a small pat on his shoulder.

"Always sir."

"Shall we?" Griffin asked, gesturing towards the sparse forest in front of us.

"Let's move out," I stated.

Despite being in the middle of arid land, the basin was home to lush forests. It stretched on for miles on end in a giant circle. Perfect for a hidden airbase or training center. Without the satellites overhead, drones and spy planes, the United States might have never found this place in a long while.

Letting a sigh escape my lips, I paused and placed my right boot on top of a rock. The terrain sloped down slightly from where we were hiking. Through the treetops I could see the blinking lights from the base. Sounds of rotor blades chopping the air and the smell of jet fuel saturated the air with a metallic after taste. Sweat dripped down my skin from the harsh march despite the cool air. Through the clouds, the moonlight still found the ground below. Flashes of light in the distance drew closer. It signaled to me that the rain was coming and soon, the cold wasn't about to become our only problem. My hand went into a side pouch on my vest and pulled out a large binocular. Holding it up to my eyes, the red numbers changed from 0000 to 1720.

"Two klicks from the air base," I muttered in a low voice.

"We're just five hundred meters from OP 2. We'll make it before day break," Griffin whispered back.

We marched onwards, placing each step firmly before moving on with the next. Not to fast, but not too slow either. Injuries from slipping on rocks were frequent with reckless navigation. Combined with packs weighing up to one hundred and thirty pounds, it wasn't uncommon for men to split open their heads either. The night wore on and the march forever tiring. But an hour or two later, we arrived at OP 2.

There were neither clearings nor openings, just a wall of trees. For all intents and purposes, it was one of the best places to hide and observe from over a kilometer away. The both of us got on our bellies and propped our rucksack in front of us like a makeshift sandbag. I placed the Remington MSR on top of the pack and pulled out the Toughbook, setting it between Griffin and I. Griffin pulled out a spotting scope after setting his M40A5 on his own pack. He placed the scope on a small tripod slightly off to his left. Concealed by thick branches, I pulled out a Canon 1DX with a long telephoto lens. Setting the camera on another tripod between Griffin and I, I connected a cable to the laptop. I had to keep my head low to prevent myself from scraping my head against the branches just overhead, as we were prone under a pine tree.

"Stalker 1 to all units, we are in position. Reaper to Baseplate, OP 2 has been established. Beginning long range recon now over," I reported raising my head up slightly to operate the camera.

"Roger that Reaper, keep us posted. Baseplate out."

"What time is it?" I asked Griffin.

"0453, sun up in two hours. Let's hope Griffin and Townsend can make it in time," Griffin sighed.

"Stalker 1 to Ghosts, what's your SITREP?" I asked.

"Ghosts to Stalker, we're half a klick out. Transitioning to skull dragging. Will report when OP 3 has been set up," a whisper replied on the radio.

"Roger that Ghosts, keep us posted," I said and flicked the 1DX on.

"What's this Ace of Spades look like?" Griffin asked as I peered through the viewfinder.

I pulled out a photograph from my admin pouch and handed it over to Griffin. It was a Chinese man in his mid-forties to late fifties, large forehead and windows peak at the hairline. He was in full military uniform with a fruit salad bigger than some of the United States generals themselves. His uniform was immaculate and his leather boots polished to a shine. There was Chinese scribbling on the bottom of the paper with a couple of numbers.

"Who's this arrogant bastard?" Griffin inquired, studying the picture.

"Admiral Chang Wei, he's a radical in the PLAN. Brass wants eyes on him and NSA and CIA intel tells us that he's here. Intel suggests that something is going down and command wants us to be there when it happens," I explained quietly, twisting the focal length ring on the camera.

"He has to be one hell of a bad egg for marine special ops to be doing recon on him," Griffin replied and handed me back the photograph.

"Fucker sure is…" I whispered back and focused the lens on one of the hangars.

Griffin pulled out a sketchbook. Drawing out the valley, Griffin would start to key in certain ranges, inclinations and elevations of the basin in the case that we started engaging the enemy. I tapped away on the Toughbook and linked the laptop up with the satellite network high up in the sky. Apollo 21 had checked out from Kyrgyzstan airspace and a blackout zone for air support had set in. Other than the periodical check-in transmission to Baseplate, it was complete radio silence. Peering through the sniper riflescope, the airbase was lit up in a hazy green hue. Mirages from extreme ranges started playing with the amplified light device. I grabbed the bolt, pushing it up and pulling it back to prepare to chamber a round. One lapua round was worth more than a box of SCAR magazine.

"Ghosts to Stalker, in position with OP 3 set up. EPLRS client is up and BluForce Tracker is online. Ghosts out."

"Copy all Ghosts, keep your eyes open for the Ace of Spades. Stalker out," I replied.

On the Toughbook screen, a blue rectangle popped up on the map. Time passed by as the units displayed on the map stayed still. Behind the peaks of the basin, red rays of light started to shine through the crevasses and various cracks in the giant highland mountains. A half circle of red appeared behind the ridgeline and the basin was bathed in warm light. The temperature shifted bit by bit from the cold desert it was once before. Darkness was washed away by light. Green treetops shined from the newfound luminance. The vast air base was revealed and was far bigger than I had imagined. It had four runways of varying lengths, with one extending to and from the edges of the basin and at places, cutting through the thick terrain. From the observation post, I started sweeping the area with my sniper scope for any signs of the Ace of Spades.

"Baseplate, this is Reaper Actual. Time is 0830 hours, still no eyes on the Ace of Spades," I reported into my throat microphone.

"Roger that Reaper Actual. Keep eyes up and report as soon as you positively identify him. Baseplate out."

"So much for intel. The spooks said he'd be here at 0800 didn't they?" Griffin whispered.

"Intel only gets the location right, maybe the time or the date, but that's pretty rare. They often fuck up the POI also," I chuckled.

"Stalker, this is Ghost," came the sudden transmission.

"Go for message Ghosts," I replied.

"We've got an incoming cow at our ten. Engine sounds still high in the sky, possible transport for VIPs how copy?"

"Roger, will check it out. Stalker out," I stated and looked to Griffin, "get me a 20 on that chopper. I'll prepare the camera to capture the target as he comes down."

"Got it sir," Griffin breathed, his eye glued to the sniper scope.

The sound of chopping rotor blades soon reached my ears. With the camera pointed at the taxiway, I looked up at the sky to find the aircraft that would soon be coming in to land. Little trouble was had spotting the large black spot in the sky. Well, it was more like five black spots. Four of which were standard Chinese Mi-17s and one American S-70 civilian Blackhawk helicopter painted in Chinese colors. They flew low over the basin before hover just slightly besides the control tower.

"There he is sir," Griffin reported.

"Yep," I breathed a reply, looking through the viewfinder.

The camera caught the helicopters just as they landed. Men in black uniform dismounted in full combat gear. In their hands were bullpup QBZ-95B carbines of which were heavily fitted with optics and laser sights. With the Mi-17 personnel dismounted, the doors of the Blackhawk slid open with four more heavily equipped soldiers walking out. They were donning what looked like EOD bomb suit armor, but I knew better. It was just heavily layered Kevlar and ceramic plates that weighed a ton compared to normal battledress, but it would allow them to receive numerous rounds and still fight.

These soldiers were the honor guard.

The target waved hello to another man dressed in officer clothing. This had to be the base commander. I twisted the focus right making sure to get the man sharp in the frame. His face, large forehead, window peak and Chinese looks were matching to the photo. Maybe add five years or more on top of it. He glanced left to speak with his honor guard.

_Snap. Snap. Snap._

Three pictures for good measure. I glanced back down at the laptop. The pictures had been captured perfectly and the man showed clear on the screen. GPS coordinates, location and various information were displayed below his picture. Data was being transmitted to the American satellite network and intelligence agencies on the fly. Satisfied, I nodded to Griffin and squeezed the transmit button on my vest.

"Reaper to Baseplate, Aces of Spades has been PID, I repeat Aces of Spades has been PID. Awaiting further orders," I reported, looking back at the airbase.

The sound of rotor blades and aircraft engines caught my ears. It was faint, but it was there. Something was out of place. Not only did it sit wrong with me, but I could see it in Griffin's worry wrought face.

"Something's wrong here Dust…" Griffin murmured, he used my callsign.

Shit was about to get real.

"Pullback, pullback Reaper. Get to LZ Bravo. SATCOM is detecting a large influx of enemy units moving into the area. Get the fuck out of there!" the commander screamed.

"Stalker to Ghosts, break down OP 3 and move back to OP 1 as fast as fucking possible. Reaper, keep your heads on a swivel. When Ghosts get near OP 1, start the engine and prepare to move the fuck out. Check?" I ordered the men.

"Roger that Stalker, Reaper out."

We started packing our things up. The camera, laptop and spotting scope went first. As we did, the airplanes soared overhead and helicopters quickly flew low just above the treetops skimming the leaves. Paratroopers dropped from the sky and troops fast roped down from the helicopters. They weren't doing it in the vicinity of the basin – their target was the air base itself. Interested and curious, I placed a hand on Griffin's shoulder and looked back through the scope. Why would they target the airbase? Wasn't it theirs? This intrigued me to no end and I had to get answers.

Men walked up around the Admiral and pointed their weapons and the base officer. His usual complement of six guards were surprised by the gesture. They took a step back, baffled by what was happening. The Admiral's mouth moved as shock took over the officer's face. Flashes of yellow from the black uniformed men's carbines riddled bullet holes in the guards, their bodies exploding in mists of red from blood. The six guards dropped to the ground dead. Dull crackles finally reached my ears as the Admiral reached into his coat. The base officer turned to run, his hands scrambling for his service pistol. But, it was too late. The Admiral had pulled out his hole and fired one clean shot through the man's center mass. The base officer too dropped on his knees, dead with his guards.

This was a full on hostile takeover.

"Shots fired, shots fired!" the radio buzzed with activity.

"Stalker to Reaper, are you compromised?" I asked.

"Negative, we're still solid Stalker," came the reply.

"Ghosts?"

"Ghosts is solid. The number of troop activity near the base has increased, but the gunfire seems to be coming from their own troops. We're regrouping on OP 1. Be there shortly. Ghosts out," Townsend reported as I nodded, looking towards Griffin.

"Looks like it's our turn to get the fuck out of dodge," I stated.

"That it is sir," Griffin replied grimly.

We packed up our remaining gear and transitioned back to our SCARs. The hike back was equally as arduous, even more so fighting against the slope rather than using it to go down. Not to mention that it was clear daylight and without the cover of darkness we were exposed. Trying to avoid the enemy was going to test our survival skills to the max. Griffin and I had made it three fourths of the way towards OP 1. Sticking to the trees, we saw a six man patrol loitering between our only exit and us. We could see them, but they couldn't see us. The six were in a wide-open area, rocks behind them and trees to their front. They sat down on rocks as their black uniforms told us they were the Admiral's men and not to be taken lightly.

"No way around it sir," Griffin muttered, looking left and right.

"That sloped hill's the only way we're getting up there. The gunfire should help mask our position," I whispered back before squeezing the transmit on my vest, "Stalker to Ghosts, what's your POS?"

"Almost three fourths of the way back Stalker, passing Point 7Up," Mejia replied.

"Stalker is at the treeline just in front of Point Fanta. Rally up on us, we have six foot mobiles, patrolling the area. Looks like they're resting. Just off of Point Fanta, in front of the small trail we used to hike down to our OPs. Foot mobiles are part of the Aces of Spades unit and armed with customized QBZ-95 Carbines," I reported.

"Ghosts copies all on SALUTE report, be there within thirty mikes. Ghost out," Mejia stated and ended the transmission.

"Stalker to Reaper, you still got that camo up?" I asked Wilkins.

"Affirm Stalker, camo is still up. We'll break it down when you get close to Point Pepsi," the Staff Sergeant and 2IC of the team replied.

"Good, give me a SITREP."

"Still maintaining low-profile, no compromise. Enemy has been moving closer and encroaching on our position but they haven't detected us yet. I wouldn't be sure about the next few hours Stalker but, we should be gone by then," Wilkins reported.

"Roger that Reaper, Stalker copies. Will report when at Point Pepsi, Stalker out."

"Start ranging the six men, prep a quick hide. We want to take them out quick," I whispered to Griffin and pulled out my laser rangefinder binoculars.

"Copy that sir," he replied, shrugging off his pack and placing it on a fallen tree bark.

The numbers under the crosshairs read one hundred and fifty meters. They were close, but far enough to mask our location if we engaged. I placed my SCAR on the tree bark and racked the charging handle to chamber a round. Peering through the magnified EoTech optics, I lined up the first man in the circle dot. He fiddled with his weapon before yawning through the balaclava. These guys were about to get into a world of hurt. Waiting for Townsend and Mejia, I went through the motions of switching from one man to the other, sweeping the rifle smoothing from one target to another. The angled plastic foregrip provided ample traction for the weapon. I heard a rustling from behind me and immediately dropped behind the bark. Canting the rifle to look through back-up iron sights, I aimed straight at the sound with the weapon between my legs.

"Friendly!" hissed to voice.

Two Marines dressed in multi-cam stepped forward from the bushes, their faces painted black, white, tan and brown. Their weapons were dangling from their vest as they took cover behind the bark next to us.

"Almost shot you in the face Townsend," I grumbled and took up my old position.

"Good thing you didn't put a hole in my face," he grinned and turned around, placing his own SCAR on the tree bark, "who's taking who?"

"I got middle left, walking it left," Griffin breathed.

"I've got middle right, walking it right," I replied.

"You take far left and I'll take far right?" Mejia suggested to his buddy.

"Seems fair, on your go sir," Townsend agreed.

"Fire on my shot…" I breathed.

The circle dot sat on my target's chest. It moved as he went through his phases of fiddling with his weapon, yawning and chatting with his men. He reached into his vest and pulled out a cigarette. The man pulled down his balaclava to reveal a mustache. It felt strange to watch him, observe him and decide the man's moment of death. The soldier lit the cigarette. With a reddish flare from the tip, the man took in the nicotine smoke. It was a grim revelation that happened to many times to me. I held this man's life in my hand. He exhaled a cloud of smoke as my finger squeezed the trigger.

_Clack._

The SCAR's silencer coughed out a bullet. One reddish mist exploded from the man's chest as he was sent flying backwards into the ground. His weapon clattered on the ground, cigarette dropping from his left hand. Another series of coughs and cracks shattered the still air. Gunfire was heard in the background but was distant at best. I swept the rifle right. Just as his friend stood up, I squeezed out two quick rounds. The first went through his chest and punched him with enough force to make him stagger. The second round obliterated his throat in an explosion of deep red blood. His hand went to his throat as the first soldier I shot hit the ground in a puff of dust, rocks and pebbles. The second combatant dropped to his knees, blood still sputtering out of his throat and fell sideways into the dirt.

"Smoking kills," I breathed out.

Lightning seem to scream at us. The sky darkened and rain started to fall. I looked up to see dark clouds above us. The pitter-patter of water seemed to send the dead Chinese soldiers off into the next stage of their life. All four of us shrugged our packs bag on and walked up to the small ridge. We paused, looking at the dead. In this world of ours, it was either us or them and circumstances pitted the two of us against each other. Maybe in another time, another life, we could have fought alongside each other – but not today. I crouched down and pulled their dogtags. When the fighting was over, I'll send it to their families and personally apologize for taking their son's lives. It was the least I could do for fighting and enemy willing enough to face me face to face, unlike the Taliban in Afghanistan.

"Stalker to Reaper, start the engines and pack the camo. It's time to go," I spoke into radio, floating my hands over the dead soldier's eyes, closing them.

"Roger that Stalker, we'll be ready when you get here," Wilkins responded.

"Let's keep moving," I suggested and stood up, "lead the way Mejia."

"You got it sir," he replied with a smile.

We clambered up the rocky slope, boots digging into unstable rocks and falling stone. It was a hard and slow climb. Minutes were wasted negotiating the terrain before arrive at a shallow rise up to the GMVs based at a natural crevasse in the ridgeline. The ten men were scrambling to ready the vehicles for travel. As we approached the three vehicles, Wilkins spotted me and quickly jogged to meet me. Their war paint were still on their faces despite the thundering and rain. Water had turned desert sand into an undriveable mush and mud was starting to suck the vehicles down from their still heavy weight.

"SITREP," I ordered.

"Victors are ready for travel. A couple patrols brushed passed us, but ever since it rained, they retreated back to the airbase," Wilkins reported as I nodded.

"Good," I stated and looked to the other men, "mount up and move to LZ Bravo for exfil! I do not want anyone lost!"

"Hooah!" they replied and slipped into the vehicles.

Shrugging off the pack, I threw the rucksack onto the back of the GMV and strapped it into the rear to prevent it from bouncing off. Townsend slid into the driver's seat and started the vehicles powerful engine. It roared to life as I jumped in beside him. The BLUFORCE tracker flickered on. Blue boxes reported that all men were accounted for and no gear or units were still inside the basin. Grabbing the radiophone, I shoved the equipment between my ear and helmet strap. Davis slapped the frame of the GMV and signaled that we were ready to go.

"Reaper to Baseplate, we are exfiling and egressing to LZ Bravo. Requesting pick up in two hours, how copy?" I asked command.

"Roger that Reaper, Nightstalker 71, 72 and 73 are inbound in one hundred and fifty mikes at LZ Bravo. Make the time Reaper, Baseplate out."

"Alright Marines, we need to make two hours and a half! Let's move!" I screamed and felt myself being thrust back into the uncomfortable seat.

Tires bit into the soggy ground, churning up dirt and wet sand as we flew through the desert at over sixty miles an hour. The sluggish beast of a vehicle had trouble finding traction against wet ground. With a reduced top speed, I pondered if we could reach the LZ in time or not. My team would move heaven and Earth to accomplish the mission. Pushing the thought out of my mind, I turned my attention to the small touchscreen. We were a decent ways away from the basin and I deemed it safe enough to allow normal communications through the squad radio once more. A ring drew my eyes to a sat phone dangling from the corner of the GMV's windshield. I grabbed the large green rectangle and held it up to my ear, extending the small tube-like antenna as I did.

"Go for Durst," I spoke into the sat phone.

"It's me Olivia," the voice replied the GMV slammed into another dip in the terrain, "am I calling at a bad time?"

"No, not at all," I replied as the men snickered.

"Captain Young's calling again," Townsend said on the squad comms.

"Shut the fuck up, all of you!" I screamed into the comms before returning my attention to the sat phone.

"I can hear the ruckus in the background. It's pretty obvious Michael that you're operating," Olivia said in her charming Briton accent before sighing, "of course you can't tell me where you are or what you're doing."

"Standard SOP I'm afraid…" I murmured, "why did you call me?"

"I'm stuck in the night shift back at Winchester's infirmary. Kind of bored so I wanted to see what's up with you," she sighed.

"I'm paying the bills Liv," I said with a small smile.

"I'll hang up. I love you, stay safe," Olivia murmured.

"I love you too," I replied and ended the call.

"So lovey dovey," Louis teased.

"Say Lieutenant," Townsend stated, glancing over to me, "haven't you seen Captain Young in six months?"

"Yeah, so?" I asked the mischievous troublemaker.

"Wouldn't hurt to see her sir," he replied with a shrug.

"I'll see her when I get my next shore leave Marine," I stated bluntly.

"Who knows when you're next shore leave will be sir," Davis added.

"We're CSOs, when we have a lull in the firefight that's when I'll go. Check?" I asked.

"Check," the three replied.

LZ Bravo was a flat piece of land that stretched for miles upon miles with nothing around. As far as the eye could see, we were in the middle of rain-slogged desert. Lined up in a rough column, we disembarked our vehicles and set up a small perimeter. We were twenty minutes earlier than the designated pick-up time. My right knee sank into the wet sand. Despite the cool rain, the sand was still warm from being baked in the sun day in and day out. Warmth melted with coolness and produced strange sensations from my right leg. I glanced down at my wristwatch. It was 1136. Almost two hours and a half after we'd left the basin. The rain had subsided somewhat and the pouring thunderstorm had turned in a light drizzle.

Sounds of rotor blades chopping the air signaled the arrival of the Nightstalkers. I looked around the dark sky to see three low flying twin rotor helicopters. The MH-47Gs flew extremely low. Their flat, buoyant bellies only a couple feet above ground as they zoomed towards us. Just a couple of hundred feet away, the helicopters pitched up to gain altitude before turning their bodies just over the GMVs. Slings dropped from a small hatch underneath the aircraft. Each man went to tend to his own duties. I grabbed one of the thick cables and clipped it to one of the many attachment points on the vehicle before hooking the other end onto a small clasp on the underneath of the Chinook. With the other Marines giving me a thumbs-up, we quickly climbed onto the GMV and signaled the crewman peering down from the hatch.

"Nightstalker 11 to Baseplate, Reaper has been picked up from the sandbox. We are egressing home," the sudden burst of radio transmission buzzed in my earphones.

"Roger that Nightstalker. Welcome home Reaper, bravo zulu on Recon Mission 3381."

"Thank you Baseplate! We'll see you back in Thailand!" I screamed into the microphone.

The GMV was lifted off its four wheels. One thousand and five hundred pounds of metal were being hoisted into the sky by two powerful engines. My stomach seemed to float as we pitched forward and gained speed. The four of us sat securely in the GMV's seats with harnesses locking us in. Strong winds swatted at my face from the flying aircraft. We banked right, heading west to exit China before turning south to head towards Thailand, our temporary base of operations. Ever since we pulled out of Afghanistan, Kandahar was the only operational airbase in the country. With the reduction in manpower, countries in the Southeastern Asia region became more important in the logistical process. The end of one mission would lead to the beginning of the next.

But, I wouldn't know what was to come because Marine Special Operations Team 8342 would become America's forward unit in the flashpoints to come.


End file.
